 | Ionica |  |
208
Lebewohl.
1
With these words, Good-bye, Adieu,Take I leave to part from you,
Leave to go beyond your view,
Through the haze of that which is to be;
Fare thou forth, and wing thy way,
So our language makes me say.
Though it yield, the forward spirit needs must pray
In the word that is hope's old token.
2
Though the fountain cease to play,Dew must glitter near the brink,
Though the weary mind decay,
As of old it thought so must it think.
209
Fixed upon the moving skies,
Cross the hands upon the bosom, there to rise
To the throb of the faith not spoken.
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